


I Choose You

by tjs_whatnot



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Erotica, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Not Epilogue Compliant, Post-War, Slash, The Quidditch Pitch: The Changing Room
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-02-06
Updated: 2008-02-06
Packaged: 2018-10-27 07:51:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,518
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10804935
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tjs_whatnot/pseuds/tjs_whatnot
Summary: Ron's tired of living a lie and needs to know he matters more...





	I Choose You

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Annie, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Quidditch Pitch](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Quidditch_Pitch), which went offline in 2015 when the hosting expired, at a time I was not able to renew it. I contacted Open Doors, hoping to preserve the archive using an old backup, and began importing these works as an Open Doors-approved project in April 2017. Open Doors e-mailed all authors about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [The Quidditch Pitch collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thequidditchpitch/profile).

 

 Ron liked big rooms; the space they offered in general, and maneuverability for what seemed like every time Harry wanted to corner him and talk about something he'd had on his mind. This time Ron was screaming inside, wanting to be heard; yet the cathedral they were in seemed to be shrinking and the silence surrounding them was tearing him up. Whose idea had this been anyway?  

“Ron, hello? Anyone in there?” Hermione asked, standing next to him.    

_Oh yeah, it had been hers,_ Ron thought to himself; taking his mind off of Harry standing on one side of him and focusing instead on his fiancée on the other. 

“Yeah, of course I’m here.”  

“Well, you know, this is _your_ dress rehearsal too. A little enthusiasm wouldn’t kill you.”  

“Yeah mate, you still want to do this right?” Harry said sharply.  

Ron gulped, and then lied, “Of course I do. You know how I get in front of people, that’s all. I’ll be fine. There’s nothing to worry about right? It will be a small wedding? Those happen every day, don’t they?”  

“Small?” Ginny snorted from the other side of Harry. “This is the double wedding of war heroes and The Boy Who Lived; you don’t think they’ll be a crowd? Our family alone will fill the first twelve rows.”  

“Ginny,” Harry said, “you are not helping.”  

Ginny glared at the both of them and Hermione putting her hand on her hips, scolded, “You two are acting like you don’t want to get married. Just say the word and Ginny and I will end this right now. We could find things to do the day after tomorrow. Maybe go shopping, catch a movie, get our nails done.”  

They all glared at each other for a moment before one, then the next, lip began to curl against their will. Soon they were all smiling. “Yeah, I can picture you and Ginny going for manicures.” Harry laughed.  

“No, I guess not,” Hermione agreed, then looked toward Ron, “We alright?”  

He took her hand gently. “Yeah, we’re alright. Don’t worry about me and Harry, we’ll be here, dress robes pressed and flowers in our hair.”  She smiled, kissed him softly and walked away with Ginny.  

“Come on,” Harry said, pulling on Ron’s sleeve, “I know what you need.”  

“Nipping over to The Leaky Cauldron for a pint?” Ron said.  

Harry smiled. “Yeah, that too.”    

*** 

Harry liked to corner Ron in the smallest spaces available. He liked to see the caged animal look in his eyes when Ron searched for an escape and Harry felt vindictive glory in Ron’s inability to flee. It was the only bit of evilness still inside him and he reveled in it.  

The night before they had both gotten pissed and Harry remembered vaguely that they had a deep, heart-felt chat. But that morning—with his brain drumming inside his skull—he couldn’t remember a word of it. So after rummaging through their tiny potions cabinet and finding the much used ingredients for the best hangover remedy they had found, he went in search of Ron.   

He found him in the smallest space possible. The shower.  

He knocked and got a muffled sound that he assumed was something like, “Please won’t you come in and talk to me about uncomfortable things why I scrub my twig and berries.” So, of course, he obliged.  

“Oi, what are you playin’ at? I’m in here.” Ron said loud enough to be heard over the pulsing water.  

Harry removed the towel from the toilet seat and sat down in its place. He sat silently and absentmindedly began picking the fluff off the towel, “How are you feeling?”  

“Violated, and you?” Ron said.  

Harry ignored that and continued, “So, I feel like a world class prat, but did we say anything that we can’t take back last night? Or do anything unforgivable to each other?”  

“You don’t remember?” Ron asked, snorting, “Typical.”  

Harry leaned over and moved aside the curtain to try to read Ron’s expression. Even when he was unnervingly trapped, Ron never before had reacted like this. Now that he thought of it, other then last night’s drinking binge, Ron had been jumpy, antsy and pouty for weeks now. Harry had always assumed it was the wedding, but that couldn’t be it, could it? The wedding was a sham, a rouse, they all knew that and they were all okay with it. Weren’t they?     

It really had been all Hermione’s idea. Once she noticed the shift in her and her two best friends’ relationship and what that could mean to the whole wizard world, she had cornered them.   

It was just before their sixth year. They were at the Burrow and when they weren’t together discussing the prophecy and Harry’s role as savior of the wizarding world; Ron and Harry would be off somewhere doing who knew what; Hermione could only guess. One day she cornered them in Ron’s bedroom, noticing only one bed unmade.  

“Are you two shagging?”  

Ron had looked amused, “Right in one.”  

Harry had looked horrified, “What! Why would you…how did you…what?”  

“Don’t worry, I’m sure no one else knows,” Hermione said, trying to calm Harry down, “But no one is as close to the two of you as I am. It doesn’t have to go past this room. We’re all good at keeping secrets.”  

“What if we don’t want to keep secrets?” Ron asked.  

Harry and Hermione both looked at him, horrified.  “Ron, I’m not judging, you know that right? I have no problem with my two best male friends being together. But the rest of the wizarding world? Harry is…well Harry is Harry. His whole life is being scrutinized and he’s the last hope and all that.”  

“My personal life and who I chose to share it with is no one’s business but mine,” Harry spat.  

“And the one you choose to share it with,” said Ron.  

Harry smiled at him and Hermione gasped, “You two aren’t just shagging are you? You two are…in…in love?”  

Ron looked at his shoes. Harry cleared his throat—several times—then went to sit next to Ron and answered, “Yes. But this—this is mine. They can have my name, I’ll give them hope, and I’ll even fight to the death for them. But they can’t have this. I need this. I need him.”  

That had been enough for Ron. He was willing to hide his true relationship with Harry. He had been willing to fake a relationship with his other best friend to keep the secret. He hadn’t even put up that much of a fight when his own sister was brought into the charade. All because Harry _needed_ him and he liked being needed.   

He had done it for Harry and he had done it for the wizarding world, but he had never done it for himself.   

It was supposed to end. The war was supposed to be the end of the sham. He had thought if they had all survived then it was a sign from the gods that he was allowed to be happy, that Harry and he were allowed to be happy. But after everything that had been lost and the status they all had been elevated to, the secret seemed necessary for a bit longer, and then a bit more. Until there were questions being asked by his family and Hermione’s family and everyone seemed to have a vested interest.  

Once again Hermione had come to the rescue. The weddings had been planned. They could live together—one big happy Weasley family! It just seemed too perfect; Hermione could devote herself to her continued education and her career goals of taking over the world without questions about her love life. Ginny too could have a life that didn’t include romantic entanglements and be free to use the guest room for any of her “team mates” who might need a place to stay.  

Those were the reasons they gave, but Ron always thought there was more to it. There was the sense he got from Harry that it was just _easier_ to pretend, than face the truth. The sense he got from Hermione that she was scared of things changing, of them not needing her anymore. Ginny, well he didn’t know exactly what her motivations were besides the thrill she must get being the betrothed to the savior of the wizarding world and the thought that she was helping bring her brother some happiness.  

Who cared if he was actually miserable?   

“What’s your problem?” Harry asked.  

Ron turned his naked, wet back to Harry and began to work the lather out of his hair. “I’d just like a bit of privacy from time to time, that’s all. Is that possible?”  

Harry stood up with his bare feet and pajama bottoms and climbed into the shower, “No.”  

Ron turned around and his anger turned to incredulity, “Are you mental?”  

“I think we need to talk and I’m sorry, but it seems that you either need to be naked or drunk to talk to me, so here we are and you’re naked—”  

“And you are obviously still drunk,” Ron cut over him. “So it doesn’t matter what I say, you won’t remember it when the booze wears off.”  

Harry laughed looking down at his wet bottoms and tried to scoff, “I promise I’m not drunk. I’m just a little dramatic this morning. I felt a statement was in order. You have been moping around for weeks now and I want to know why.”  

Ron turned away again, sticking his face under the warm water, “Nice of you to notice.”  

Harry racked his brain, but couldn’t think of a single thing to say to this. So instead he just leaned forward and wrapped his arms around Ron, locking his arms to his sides because he knew that Ron would resist. He did.  

“Get off!”   

“Not until you talk to me,” Harry managed to say through the struggle with his slippery lover.  

Harry felt Ron stop fighting against him, but he wasn’t expecting him to slump and it took all of Harry’s strength to support Ron. When he had them both upright and steady he released his hold, not letting go completely.  

“You really don’t remember a thing I said last night, do you?” Ron said quietly.  

“I’m sorry, I really wish I did. It was obviously very important.”  

“You know what I wish? I wish we had one of the Pensieve thingies so I wouldn’t have to say it all over again. It was hard enough the first time.”  

“There is nothing you can tell me that I don’t want to hear,” Harry said.  

Ron looked into his eyes for the first time that morning and they both swallowed simultaneously, unable to hide the fear they seemed to share. Harry suddenly wanted to flee, to not know.  

A moment later it was all over.  

“I don’t want to do this,” Ron mumbled and Harry knew he wasn’t talking about the shower, wasn’t talking about the conversation—he was talking about their future.  

In the stretched silence that followed, Ron stepped out of the shower, picked up the towel and left the room. Leaving Harry standing under the water that had by then turned frigid, unable to move; wishing for his own Pensieve or better, a Time Turner to go back to the night before and remember, and really listen to Ron breaking up with him the first time.   

Ron controlled the shaking that was overtaking him long enough to find and put on his pants. He was rummaging around his cluttered drawers to find a pair of jeans when Harry finally emerged from the bathroom; still soaking wet, still in his pajama bottoms. Ron threw him his discarded damp towel before he turned away and continued his quest for clothes.  

“How long have you felt this way?” Harry asked, removing his dripping clothes and toweling off.  

Ron pulled a wrinkled white T-shirt over his head and drew it down over his chest. The wrinkles disappearing as it clung to his wet body and bulging pecs.   “How long have I wanted to give up the illusions and stop living a lie? Almost since the beginning,” he answered.  

He heard Harry slump down onto the rumpled bed, “Why didn’t you ever say anything?”  

“I’ve been trying, but no one ever listens. It’s always, ‘Don’t be daft Ron,’ or ‘Think of the family. Think of Harry.’ ‘Be a good boy Ron.’ So I shut my mouth and did as I was told. For you.” He turned and looked at Harry finally. “I kept it to myself for you.”  

“And you don’t want to think of me anymore?” Harry asked.  

Ron took a deep breath, forcing himself to keep Harry’s gaze, whispering, “When is it for me?”  

“Sorry?” Harry asked.  

“When am I the one things are done for? When am I the most important thing to you? When is what I want considered?”  

Ron fought the buckling in his knees, he was dizzy and a burning ache had started at the pit of his stomach and was spreading like a virus was eating him up. He wanted to run. He felt infected. It was his fourth-year jealousies all over again. It was the locket all over again. He was ashamed of himself; but still too defiant to take this sorrow and swallow it with the rest.  

He watched Harry hesitantly, unsure of his reaction. For a minute it looked as if Harry was struggling to work out exactly how he should be feeling. Finally he looked up, his eyes swimming and rose to his feet, towel falling away. Now Harry stood before Ron naked and wet and Ron was partially clothed and awkward.  

“I’m sorry,” Harry whispered. “I’m sorry that you ever felt that I didn’t care about what you wanted.” He reached for Ron’s hand and Ron’s sense of vileness dissipated slightly, “But in all fairness; you knew I was rubbish at Occlumency. I kinda need to be hit over the head with a bludger to get most things.”  

Putting his other hand around Ron’s neck Harry brought him to his waiting lips. Testing his apology with a light kiss and when that was accepted tentatively kissing him deeper. For a moment Ron wanted to give into this; to let his body do the talking. But his body was a fuckin’ traitor and this was too important. He pushed away.  

“What are you doing?” Harry asked, hurt.  

“What are _you_ doing?”   

“Trying to show you how important you are to me.”  

“And you think fucking me is how you do that?” Ron asked.  

“It always has been in the past.”  

Ron fought against the urge to punch Harry in the face. Instead he screamed obscenities and stormed around the room, pulling his own hair out of his head. “I can’t believe your fucking nerve. I am over here screaming for you to listen to me and you are standing over there thinking all I need is a good buggering!”  

Harry slumped down on the bed again, “I’m sorry. I don’t know what you want me to say. If you don’t want to go through with it, we won’t go through with it. I can’t even remember why we agreed to it in the first place. I just want to keep my private life to myself. I’m sorry if that is selfish, but it’s the way I feel.”  

Ron came and sat next to him. “You don’t want the wizarding world to know that you are in love with a man? Or is it that you don’t want them to know that you love me?”   

Harry was sickened, how could Ron think that? He got down on his knees in front of Ron, taking both his hands in his. “Ron, you can’t be serious. You know how much I love you. You know you are the only thing that has kept me sane all this time. We will make this work, I promise. I can’t lose you.”  

Ron bent down and kissed him; pulling away only to say, “I still don’t want to get married.”  

Harry snaked his hand behind Ron’s head and moved him back to his lips. “Okay,” he said between kisses.  

“I’m serious,” Ron continued when Harry began moving his tongue along Ron’s jaw line and then suckling on his earlobe.  

“Later,” Harry breathed heavily in Ron’s ear.  

“I know what you’re doing,” Ron said while Harry removed Ron’s shirt and began kissing his shoulders, trailing his fingers gingerly up and down Ron’s arms. “You’re not going to change my mind with...oh, that feels…” Ron trailed off as Harry reached into Ron’s pants and took his hardened cock in his hand.   

Seeing that he had finally appeased his lover, Harry pushed him back on the bed and removed Ron’s jeans and pants. Moving his hands up Ron’s thighs, he massaged the taut muscles there, easing Ron’s legs open to place himself between them.   

First Harry took Ron’s sac in his mouth and salved them thoroughly to appreciative moans from Ron. Then slowly, he worked his tongue up Ron’s salty, hard shaft taking the tip into his wet, hungry mouth. Ron moaned again as Harry swallowed more of him, before pulling out, only to slide his mouth farther and then farther, until Ron could feel himself at the back of Harry’s throat, and still he took more.   

Ron dug his fingers into Harry’s shoulder as his whole bodied tensed and then, what seemed like hours later, released.   

Ron was sated but still wanted more. He felt for the first time in his life he had gotten his way and he was drunk with the power of it.   

He pulled Harry to him forcefully and kissed him deeply, tasting his own seed in Harry’s mouth and feeling the authority of it as he explored Harry’s mouth; devouring him with his probing tongue.  

He had Harry begging for it within minutes.  

Rolling Harry unto his back and standing up over him, Ron stood between Harry’s spread legs and with his hands on Harry’s knees, pulled him to the edge of the bed. Placing Harry’s feet on his shoulders he took two of his fingers into his own mouth and wetted them. Harry watched him with wide, expectant eyes, and when Ron maneuvered them gently into Harry’s arse, Harry moaned.   

“Oh, fuck me,” Harry pleaded breathlessly.  

“In good time,” Ron answered, teasing Harry with slow movements in his long, powerful fingers.  

Harry couldn’t stand it. He wanted to touch something, wanted to feel something with his own hands. Not being able to reach for Ron, he took his own cock and began wrenching.  

Ron laughed, “Slow down or you’ll be finished before I start.”  

Blushing, Harry took a deep breath, as if forcing himself to relax. Not taking his eyes off Ron he slowed his pacing down. But then Ron took the teasing to another level.  Taking his cock in his hand and spreading Harry wider, Ron nudged himself against Harry, not entering, just tickling.  

“Harry,” Ron said almost conversationally.  

“Yeah,” Harry said, trying hard to mimic the tone but unable to get his breathing that steady.  

“If you had to choose between the whole entire wizarding world and me, what would you choose?”  

Their eyes locked again and there was no fear. Harry reached out and Ron gave his hands to him, and as he pulled Ron inside him he said, “I choose you.”  

Ron, rocking back and forth on his heels, riding the pleasure throughout his body, almost didn’t hear the answer. But as he came and then collapsed beside Harry who held him tightly, Harry repeated himself, “I choose you.”   

*** 

Hermione and Ginny had no idea why they had gotten a summons from George to meet him at Harry and Ron’s flat. It was the night of their bachelor party after all; the girls clearly didn’t see why their presence would be required.  

“What’s going on?” Hermione asked the moment she walked in and saw a room full of blokes, none of them Harry or Ron. “Where are they?”  

George shrugged. “We don’t know. We just got here and found this,” he held up an envelope addressed to both Hermione and Ginny.  

_Girls—_

_We are truly sorry, but we can no longer participate in this farce. We deserve to be happy being who we are—so do you both. Apologize to everyone and tell them we have gone to forge a life for ourselves where we can be what we want, with who we want._

_Love always,_

_Harry and Ron_

They looked at each other, speechless. Then another slip of paper fell out of the envelope. Ginny reached down and picked it up. It was an advertisement for instructors at an American wizarding school called Salem Institute for Witches and Wizards in someplace called, _Massachusetts._

Hermione laughed despite herself and whispered to Ginny, “Maybe there will be a wedding after all.”  

 

   


End file.
